No Reason
by Joon
Summary: 1st Good Omens Fic Attempt-- Lunch, Plants, etc.


GAH! I had to repost this as the formatting went all wrong. Apparently, I'm only able to use a computer as a glorified typewriter.

So here it is again:

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Okay...erm...HI everyone!   
Uh..so, this is my first attempt at writing a Good Omens Fic. And I,   
of course write something that doesn't really have a PLOT. It's just   
some random idea I had and so I threw it down on paper, so to speak.   
  
I can only use the excuse that I've never written a Good Omens Fic   
before so if it sucks beyond human comprehension that's the reason.  
  
So, here it is...  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Aziraphale or Crowley or his Bentley. Much to   
my own chagrin.  
  
"No Reason"  
  
Crowley decided it was time to stop tempting Aziraphale to try new   
things. It was making the angel attempt the same with him. When   
Crowley did tempted, he knew it was cool. When Aziraphale tried   
it...it was just plain bloody annoying.  
  
"Just TRY it, Crowley!" insisted the angel. The bright blue eyes   
shined encouragingly from behind the thin lenses. Keeping his arms   
resting tightly on the table, Crowley stared at his bowl as if it   
held holy water. "You pushed me to try sushi and look how well that   
turned out," Aziraphale pointed out.   
  
"That's different," insisted Crowley. "I'm a seasoned veteran in   
tempting. I'm GOOD at seeing what people should try out and   
you're....you're you. You've got no intuition whatsoever when it   
comes to what we baddies like."   
  
Ignoring the obviously camp sentence, Aziraphale frowned. "I don't   
see what our identities and jobs have anything to do with you not   
trying the soup. It's perfectly good seaweed from one of the most   
well known areas of central As-"   
  
"The point is, angel," interrupted the demon, hastily before   
Aziraphale got a good foot hold on his lecture. "Is that I'm not   
going to eat it."   
  
"It's healthy!"   
  
Crowley looked at him from behind his dark-tinted glasses, his   
expression speaking volumes of what he thought about Aziraphale's   
pathetic attempt.   
  
"It is," insisted the blond.   
  
"No one ever sold anyone into eating anything by telling them it was   
healthy."   
  
Giving up, Aziraphale reached over and plucked the small bowl away   
from his demonic counterpart. Crowley grinned from beneath his   
sunglasses at the look that appeared on the angel's face as he sipped   
at the discarded soup. The mournful aura coming from Aziraphale gave   
Crowley the impression that the angel almost felt sorry for the   
shunned food and was eating it out of pity. It was almost cute.   
  
"You're a fine one to talk about doing new things," grumbled   
Aziraphale, sounding put off.   
  
"When I mean try new things, I mean try new things that are worth a   
toss, angel. Not take up the diet of a dolphin." He really didn't   
even know why he was bothering to argue the point of what was fun to   
someone who found an unusual amount of entertainment in perusing for   
regency silver snuffboxes.   
  
Flagging down a wayward waiter with a tilt of his head, Crowley   
quickly ordered himself a tempura dish, giving the waiter a clear   
sign that speed was the key if he hoped for a tip. Leaning back in   
his seat, the demon watched as Aziraphale polished off the rest of   
the soup. "So, other than to try your sad bastard attempt at peddling   
seaweed to me, was there any other reason you wanted lunch?"   
  
The thought that his counterpart might want or need something from   
him had occurred to Crowley much later than he would have expected of   
himself. He was getting too used to just hanging out with the angel   
rather than just consorting business with him. Feeling a bit odd   
about that revelation, Crowley looked around his fellow diners at the   
restaurant and mentally luke-warmed everyone surrounding dinners. Two   
tables away, a woman grimaced down at her soup and angrily called   
over a waiter.   
  
The smile that had formed on Aziraphale's face at Crowley's inquiry   
dispersed into a look of exasperation. "Mind paying attention?"   
  
"Yeah, yeah, right," replied the demon, simultaneously killing the   
stoves in the kitchen. All but one that was currently frying away a   
nice looking tempura dish.   
  
Reaching below the table, Aziraphale pulled out a large paper bag   
that Crowley had not noticed before. "I've got something for you..."   
he began, looking strangely shy.   
  
Crowley broke away from watching the woman chewing out the chef who   
had been brought out. He eyed the bag that now sat next to the empty   
bowl of soup and then glanced back at Aziraphale who had a slightly   
embarrassed expression on his face. Reaching in, Aziraphale carefully   
pulled out a largish clay pot that was the home of a houseplant.   
  
Blinking in surprise at the gift for a moment, Crowley gently ran a   
hand over the plant. The yellow bordered leaves, like small hands   
reached out as he did so and seemed to almost nestle into the demon's   
fingers but refused to bend when he pressed at it. He liked it   
already.   
  
"Hello," he greeted the new addition to his house.   
  
"It's an Algerian Ivy," supplied Aziraphale, watching the plant and   
Crowley's introduction to each other. "The florist told me it could   
get quite big but you seem to always care for your plants very well   
so I don't suppose you'll have too many problems."   
  
Crowley didn't think the word "care" exactly described what he did to   
his plants but he kept quiet as he gave the ivy leaves a final   
stroke. "It goes well with your eyes," added Aziraphale, coughing it   
out uselessly as he knew very well the demon wouldn't be wearing the   
plant. But he had chosen it specifically because the yellow in the   
leaves had the same shade as Crowley's eyes, usually hidden by his   
glasses.   
  
Crowley imagined his other plants would get bothered by him having a   
favorite around. Especially if it meant their chances of disposal was   
a little higher. They might even try and off the Algerian Ivy. Either   
way, it would make for an interesting change to the dynamics of his   
miniature green family. He had a feeling, however, that the ivy   
wouldn't give into such a fate so easily. It looked like a tough   
bastard, which just endeared it even more to the demon.  
  
"Do you like it?" asked Aziraphale, doing an almost convincing job of   
not appearing too insecure. He had never bought Crowley anything   
other than the occasional lunch. And it struck him as rather   
important that his counterpart not loathe the gift.  
  
"I do," replied Crowley, sincerely. Carefully, he took the pot off   
the table. "I'll take good care of it," he promised, setting the pot   
on the floor near his chair. Looking back up at the pleased angel,   
Crowley asked, "Why the gift?"  
  
"Oh...no reason," shrugged Aziraphale, moving a damp chopstick about   
the emptied soupbowl in front of him. "It just reminded me of you, I   
suppose," he explained, hastily. "I thought you might...want to have   
it."  
  
"Seems I'm wrong then," said Crowley, smiling at the blond   
angel. "You're not half bad in knowing what demons like."  
  
+++++++++++++++   
  
A few days later, a blur whizzed by several terrified pedestrians   
just outside of London. If filmed and slowed down frame by frame, the   
blur would reveal itself to be a 1926 Black Bentley with an arm   
sticking out of the window, holding a small plastic bag. The owner of   
the vehicle was Crowley. The arm as well. The plastic bag, if   
enlarged in its frame, would reveal in fuzzy letters the   
words, "Merril's Music Tapes and CD's". Inside the bag was a rare   
recording of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D from Albert Hall.   
  
Sitting behind the wheel of the speeding Bentley, Crowley was taking   
no chances in the tape he had just purchased morphing into a Best of   
Queen album. The process usually took a fortnight but he had no idea   
if the morphing occurred all at once or if it was a gradual thing.   
And he'd feel pretty bad if in the middle of listening to the   
Canzonetta, Aziraphale found himself hearing about Fat Bottomed   
Girls.   
  
With his left hand firmly clasped the bag, waving mightily in the   
wind, Crowley nervously tapped his right hand's fingers on the wheel.   
He hoped Aziraphale would like his gift.


End file.
